


Heroes & Bedtime Stories

by StoriesOfImagination



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Fluff, Jonathan 'Hold my beer and watch this' Queen, Kid Fic, Legacy AU, Legacy Verse, established olicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesOfImagination/pseuds/StoriesOfImagination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in ash818's wonderful Legacy verse.<br/>A little Mother's Day drabble of Felicity juggling motherhood with her work for Team Arrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroes & Bedtime Stories

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Legacy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028324) by [ash818](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash818/pseuds/ash818). 



Felicity was used to the waiting. It was part of the Team Arrow job description when Oliver was out on patrol. The how and the where had changed over the years- from the Foundry to Palmer Tech, now renamed Queen Inc, to Panoptic, and now in her home office.

She got a certain glee from calling this floor-to-ceiling piece of tech heaven something that mundane. No-one could really mistake it for anything than the glorious computer assemblage that it really was. Her monster servers, Ada & Love, were her pride and joy and cut through data like – well, like arrows through a bad guy.

Once when her Mom had stumbled onto it during a visit she had asked what Felicity could possibly need “all that junk for”. Felicity had looked her dead in the eye and said “Tic Tac Toe.”

But now of course, the main reason to work from home was so she could watch over their kids and Oliver at the same time – even when he was half a city away. When Jon was a baby she had him in a playpen next to her workstation at Panoptic. He had napped and played quite oblivious to the more pointy toys on the other side of the room.

At 18 months old he had woken up around 3am- just as Oliver walked in from a rough night, hood down and leathers bloodied. One gleeful “Dada!” was all it took for them to realize they needed a new arrangement.

They had tried babysitters from time-to-time –Panoptic employees, nannies, you name it. But she and Oliver could only be gone so much without the cover of a gala or other public event before people would put two and two together and come up with ‘Hood’. So yeah, home office.

Jon was 10 years old now and had made a habit of waking in the night at inconvenient moments. Sometimes Felicity could buy a few minutes by telling him to find some cookies in the kitchen. Occasionally she would swear blind that she heard baby Abby crying, and ‘could he just check that she was okay?’ And at others she would fake a business call to the other side of the world while feeding Oliver information, pausing only long enough to send Jon to find a bedtime story while she ‘finished her meeting’.

It wasn’t perfect, but they muddled through. And on nights like tonight it was actually a blessing.

It had been a close call tonight – all gunfire and screaming through the comms. She had held her breath while she watched Oliver, Dig and Sara work their way through the mess of gang members at the docks, only speaking to guide them around the more obvious ambushes.

Jon had – predictably – knocked on her door right in the middle of the takedown. She excused herself, muted her comms and ruffled his hair as she ducked down.

“What’s up kiddo? Bad dreams?”

He had nodded with a mutinous mouth and saucer-big eyes. He was so desperate to be strong like his Daddy, it was a battle to get him to admit anything was wrong at all some nights. But Felicity recognized the signs.

“I’m in the middle of a meeting. Can you get us some milk and cookies and choose me something fun to read?”

He nodded tentatively.

“Thanks Jon. I’ll meet you on the snuggle-sofa in a few, okay?”

“’Kay” he said and headed to the kitchen.

Felicity gently closed the door and dived back to the satellite feed, turning her comms on as she sat.

“I’m back. Everyone good?”

And that was when the screaming had begun. Some of the more ruthless gang members had decided that dead slaves couldn’t testify and started killing indiscriminately. It was bloody chaos. She had helped her team as best she could and then sat with tears running down her face when Digg told her that Oliver was hurt but alive. He was taking him to Panoptic to stitch him up.

This was the worst part of the night for her. Waiting for him to come home. Waiting to see with her own eyes that he was still alive and whole and hers. She didn’t take that for granted, not ever.

She thanked Digg and shut her system down for the night. The monotony and familiarity of saves, prompts and checks gave her time to decompress. Then she wiped her eyes and dried her cheeks and went to find Jon.

He was waiting for her on their favorite couch, thumbing through a book and dropping crumbs everywhere as he munched through some chocolate chip cookies. She paused at the sight, enraptured by the way his hair flopped too-long over his forehead and the blueness of his eyes, so like his Father.

“What do you have for us tonight?” She said flopping down next to him.

He waved the book at her with a mouth too full to talk and she whisked it from him mid-air.

“Let’s see now, oh ‘The Twits’ by Roald Dahl. Yes that would appeal to you wouldn’t it?” She grinned at him – sparkling eyes and a face full of crumbs.

He snuggled into her side and she wrapped her arms around him. She began to read to him about neighbors and beards, glue and birds and very clever children. Her fingers absently stroked his hair back from his face and massaged a path over his scalp. His breathing became slow and steady until she realized he wasn’t giggling at the mayhem, but had fallen into a peaceful sleep.

She gently put the book aside and rested her cheek on top of his head, enjoying the peace. Their lives were frenetic at the best of times and it was easy to forget why they did all this. But in this moment it was so clear. Their city needed to be saved for Jon and Abby and the many generations who would follow them. They would fight to secure all of their futures on behalf of every parent who wondered if their kids would make it home safe each night.

She heard a noise from the doorway and looked up to see Oliver, bruised and moving stiffly.

“Hey,” he said softly. “He woke up again huh?’

“He has a very inconvenient gift,” Felicity answered with a soft smile. “How about you? How bad?”

She and Oliver had come to an understanding years ago that he would never lie about his injuries. For one thing, he had never been able to lie to her convincingly, for another, well there had been one time when an undisclosed fractured rib combined with some enthusiastic lovemaking had nearly killed him. Quite literally. Digg hadn’t let either of them live that one down for a while.

“Some stitches, a bruised rib or three and some road rash we’ll have to explain away for a couple of weeks.” He shrugged. “Hey, you know what I realized tonight?”

He sat on the coffee table in front of her and entwined their fingers.

“What?”

“Happy Mother’s Day,” he said with a soft smile.

“Is it? Already?” She frowned in confusion, thankful that Jerry knew her schedule backwards and would have sent her Mother something.

“Yes,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “It is.”

And looking down at Jon curled up next to her, Felicity had to agree- it was a very happy Mother’s Day indeed.


End file.
